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No longer new

It's a curious weekend. My husband is away on a choir retreat, and my son has gone to his grandparents' for a sleepover. It's just us girls. Last night, there was hair-braiding and Anne of the Island for the big girl, bath and snuggles for the little girl, and marzipan-covered cake and orange chocolate port for Mommy. Plus three episodes of Downton Abbey; the youngest little miss has an overly keen sense of how little slumber happens at a girls' slumber party, so we stayed up late with the early 20th century. Today, it's baths for the big girl and sleep-ins all around. And a belated five-minute post with a seven-minute preamble.

This Friday's word was "new".

The baby isn't where I left her. She's moved herself across the floor. Sliding in slow, deliberate semi-circles, pushing and pulling whatever's solid on the way by. Squealing with delight at rearranging the light-weight but large items, such as pine chairs and plastic stools. She leaves a trail of mis-placed furniture and emptied shelves in her wake.

She's not so new. It's been just over nine months. I haven't done the math, but I think my late-comer has now been out longer than she was in. She's certainly been out and cooing for longer than we knew she was around before. And yet she's moving in a way the other two did not. She's still managing to be new to me who is not so new to motherhood. Each baby's her own person after all. We'll see how else she keeps me guessing.

And stop.

Do head over to Kate's place for a list of other brave five-minute writers. This month, some are there every day, for a special challenge of writing freely (and posting boldly) for each of October's 31 Days. Friday's post is found here.

According to the classical method of pigeon-holing personalities, I am a phlegmatic melancholic, which is Latin for "thinks way too much about things to fill out 'about me' sections briefly or succinctly". Consider yourself warned. I am happily married to the man of my shopping list (far better choice than the two-dimensional Prince Charming of my dreams), and the mother of a pensive princess, a mischievous munchkin, and one chill but cheery babe. Caring for the above currently takes up most of my time, but I hope someday to train as a midwife. I am an Orthodox Christian, and my husband is a sub-deacon, so I suppose that makes me a sub-matushka (to abuse the Slavic term). I am addicted to coffee and fiction. I love to sing. My weaknesses in writing include alliteration and parentheses (surely you suspected). My love of chocolate is genetic, and the cravings can usually be quelled by heart-healthy high-quality dark decadence, but I still occasionally slum with a snickers. My blog is my happy place, a spot for sharing blessings, and writing for the sheer joy of putting words on a screen.